


The Course of True Love

by Elenchus



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Divergent AU, Canon Era, F/M, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 21:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenchus/pseuds/Elenchus
Summary: Grantaire swung an arm around Marius’ shoulder and pulled him close. “Fear not, my good Monsieur le Baron. I am an expert in nothing if not love; I fall in love twice a day, once after breakfast and once before dinner.” He gave Marius a condescending pat. “I am moved to charity; a heart that loves is…something something, I’ve forgotten what. You, my young fellow, are in need. I will undertake to teach even you the paths of love.”Grantaire attempts to teach Marius how to woo a young lady. If only Marius would admit he'dalreadywooed the young lady in question life could be much simpler.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in an amorphous period in the spring of 1832, when Marius and Cosette are regularly meeting at the house in the Rue Plumet. Following book canon, Marius hasn't told anyone about his relationship with Cosette, or even that he's seeing someone. Because...Marius.

Marius sighed and tried to subtly glance around the tree he was hiding behind. There was Cosette, his lovely Cosette, not ten meters away and yet as far away as the distant stars. Cosette was more beautiful than any star, and it seemed to him that she even shone with a faint light. Ah, to approach her! To speak to her! To take her hand and gaze into her eyes in full view of the world and without the shameful cover of darkness! But Marius did not dare show himself now, not when Cosette could see how shabby his coat was and how worn his hat. Besides, Marius had no intention of announcing himself thus to her father – a man who thought nothing of branding himself with an instrument of torture! It could not be done, not now, not so. Proper respect was due, and a finer hat.

Cosette glanced in the general direction of his tree, and Marius carefully fixed his gaze on a passing duck. He sighed in vain, and all alone.

Or so he supposed, until he felt a heavy hand come down on his shoulder. “Observe, a Pontmercy in the wild!”

Marius yelped and jumped back, swatting away the hand. Grantaire came into view, smirking slightly. “Ah, the beast has claws – and yet I will engage. What does Marius Pontmercy do on a sunny afternoon, surrounded by the beauties of Paris?”

“Hello,” muttered Marius, because he felt he ought to. Even if Grantaire hadn’t.

Grantaire ignored the greeting. “I will tell you: Marius Pontmercy gazes upon waterfowl. This young man’s thoughts ought to be on love; instead they rest on ornithology. A sad case, but not, we may hope, one gone beyond repair.”

“You’re one to talk,” retorted Marius. “You haven’t a, a mistress.” He was annoyed to feel his cheeks burn slightly at the term, and tried to compensate with a degree of stony dignity.

It failed to impress Grantaire, who swung an arm around Marius’ shoulder and pulled him close. “Fear not, my good Monsieur le Baron. I am an expert in nothing if not love; I fall in love twice a day, once after breakfast and once before dinner.” He gave Marius a condescending pat. “I am moved to charity; a heart that loves is…something something, I’ve forgotten what. You, my young fellow, are in need. I will undertake to teach even you the paths of love.”

Grantaire paused here, allowing Marius to contemplate the situation with mounting horror.

“Er, thank you? But I’m –” Marius’ protestations were cut off by an exclamation from Grantaire, who despite Marius’ best efforts had departed from the safety of his tree.

“Look there, it’s Monsieur Leblanc and Mademoiselle Lanoire! I shouldn’t have recognized the girl without the grandfather.” Grantaire squinted. “She’s gotten somewhat pretty, hasn’t she?”

“She’s the most beau – uh – nothing special, really,” said Marius deeply confused by conflicting desires to defend Cosette and keep her from Grantaire’s notice. And vice versa. He wondered if he ought to call Grantaire out for a duel. Was that what his father would have done?

“Marius,” announced Grantaire, “I have hit upon an idea. An inspiration. You will woo our Mademoiselle Lanoire, under my expert guidance.”

“It’s really quite all right –” Marius tried again.

Grantaire thumped Marius’ chest, uncomfortably hard. “It will be! I’ll distract the old man – you’ll have to be quick. Introduce yourself, then waste no time. You love her! you adore her! You’ve been transfixed by her beauty; she rules your thoughts by day and haunts your dreams at night.”

“It’s really not –” Marius tried a last time, but it was too late. Grantaire had left, and Marius watched with vaguely dawning horror as Grantaire approached Monsieur Fauchelevent and pretended to trip over his feet. The old man stopped to help Grantaire up – and Marius couldn’t pass up the chance.

He hurried over to Cosette as fast as he could while still affecting a casual stroll. She’d taken a few steps away from her father, who was being led still further away by Grantaire, and Marius managed to stand near enough to speak to Cosette without seeming to address her. “H-hello,” he said. “It’s me.”

Cosette turned her face half toward him and smiled shyly. It was as if a second sun had come out, brighter far than the one overhead. “Hello,” she replied in a soft voice. “It _is_ you.”

They gazed at each other for a moment as Marius struggled for words to say. It was easier somehow in her gardens at night, when the world felt far away and time unreal. Here he felt tongue tied and an utter fool. He cast desperately back for a lifeline.

“I love you,” he told her, suddenly. “I adore you. You’re the most beautiful sight in the world, and, and I think about you all the time. I can hardly wait to see you again when we’re apart, even when I’ve just left you the moment before.”

“Oh,” said Cosette, blushing prettily though she had heard him swear his love a hundred times before. Perhaps it felt different to her too.

Marius wished he could take her hands in his and draw her close, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he simply said, “I’ve dreamed of you.”

Cosette placed the tips of her fingers on her mouth as if to hide a smile, and then briefly pressed those same fingers against Marius’ chest, right above his heart. “Then perhaps I’ll see you tonight, Monsieur – in my dreams or in yours.” A quick flirtatious smile, then she ducked her head demurely and turned back to walk to her father.

Marius hurried back to his arboreal safe haven, and was joined moments – or perhaps an eternity – later by a dazed looking Grantaire.

“What happened?” asked Marius, who wouldn’t have put it past Monsieur Fauchelevent to have wrestled Grantaire to the ground. Or perhaps hexed him.

“The old man gave me a lecture,” said Grantaire, “and a pouch of silver.” He seemed uncharacteristically bemused, staring at the little pouch in his hands – but then he shook himself and returned to his usual self, or close enough to make no difference. “But you have stolen my part; I am the one to ask you. How did you fare with the newly lovely miss? Did you win a kiss, or the promise of a later rendezvous?”

Marius couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face. “Both.”

That seemed to catch Grantaire off guard again, but he recovered quickly. “Our Marius has become a lover! Sisyphus will put down his rock and Ixion halt his wheel to marvel at such a sight! Well, spring must come to us all, and you will buy me a drink to celebrate.”

Marius didn’t even object.


	2. Chapter 2

Marius plucked sadly at one of the lute strings. He felt there were rather too many strings to begin with – how was one supposed to keep them straight? “Any advice on what to do with this?” he asked Prouvaire, the proud (?) owner of the dreadful device.

“Oh.” Prouvaire blushed slightly. “Ah, no. I just like how it looks.”

Grantaire eyed them both critically. “No. This won’t do. The tableau is lacking; it does not live.” 

Marius plucked another string, harder, just to watch Grantaire and Prouvaire both flinch. This hadn’t been_ his _idea after all. Grantaire had appeared at his rooms and spirited him away to meet with Jean Prouvaire for “advanced lessons on the art of wooing.” In retrospect, he was lucky all it had been was music lessons.

Perhaps in retribution for the lute playing, Grantaire moved Marius into a different pose. “There. At least try to _look_ the part of the charming lover; we can’t help what comes out of your mouth but at least we can make good use of that profile. The lady invited you for a rendezvous, so it must have worked so far.” Grantaire stood back to examine his handiwork. Marius scowled at him. “Hm. Can you sing?”

Marius had sung for years at church, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Grantaire. “Perhaps?” he hazarded.

Prouvaire hummed a few notes and softly sang “_J'aime mieux ma mie au gué_…”, smiling sweetly when Marius turned to glare at him. Very well; Marius would try to be gentle with his lute in future.

Grantaire was thinking – always a bad sign. “Ah, well, campaigns have been built on a worse perhaps. Built and likely lost – let’s say we have you recite poetry. Even a Pontmercy should be capable of that.”

Marius started to hand the lute back to Prouvaire, but Grantaire stopped him with a cry. “No, keep that – a proper lover come to woo with song and story has to have an instrument. Just don’t play it.”

Marius spotted a flaw in this plan. “What if she asks me about it?”

“Tell her you can’t make too much noise for fear of alerting her father.”

“But…then won’t she ask why I brought it at all?”

“Only,” Grantaire announced sententiously, “if your singing and poetry are very bad.”

“But- mrph!” Marius squawked as Grantaire put a hand firmly over his mouth, cutting off complaints.

“Now – Prouvaire, help me write our compatriot a proper love poem.”

—

Hours later, Marius glanced furtively around Cosette’s garden for a place to hide the lute. He’d already stuck the feathered hat Prouvaire had cheerfully foisted on him in a tree along the way, but he doubted that would work so well for a heavy instrument.

He was, alas, too slow.

“Hello?” a soft, beloved voice called out from the darkness. Cosette emerged from behind a stand of trees like light coming upon the world. She smiled, and Marius forgot to be afraid of anything. “It _is_ you. I hoped you would come tonight.”

Marius sat down on the little stone bench, remembering at the last moment to move the lute so there was room for Cosette to sit close to him. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he told her. “I wrote a poem about you.” Even with all the “advice” from Grantaire and Jean Prouvaire, he’d done the bulk of the writing in the end.

“Oh?” she sat down next to him as he’d hoped, and looked up at him with sparkling eyes. “Will you read it to me, Monsieur Marius?”

“I think I had better not,” he decided. It hadn’t been very good. “It couldn’t compare to your beauty in person; I would be ashamed to present a copy to the original herself.”

Cosette laughed softly and lay her head against his shoulder. This jostled the lute and caused it to sound. “Oh!” she exclaimed with obvious pleasure. “I was so distracted I scarcely…do you play?”

“Not a bit,” said Marius with perfect honesty. “I could, er, sing if you would like it?”

“Then may I…?” she held out her hands, and Marius all too happily handed the dratted instrument over. She took a moment to adjust it in her lap, and then slowly, softly, she began to pick out a simple melody. It was slow and halting at first, but recognizable.

She smiled and ducked her head at Marius’ obvious surprise. “I took lessons on the piano,” she explained, “only Mademoiselle d’A— had so many different sorts of instruments around, I couldn’t help being curious. I’m afraid I remained quite indifferent in my piano playing but I can play at least _something_ on all sorts of things. I think my favorite was the hammered dulcimer.” Her hands stilled for a moment and then the melody changed, growing more clear and sure and she practiced. “Now you mustn’t tease me, Monsieur, just because I’m a novice.”

“You’re perfect,” he told her, meaning it in every way.

A charming blush suffused her cheeks, and she focused her eyes carefully on her instrument. “I believe,” she said, “I was promised singing?”

Marius picked up her melody and softly, gently, sang along with Cosette’s playing. The night and dense foliage seemed to envelop them in a perfect, hidden world, with a gentle breeze caressing them without carrying their secrets away.


End file.
